


spring

by alismithpdf



Series: seasons [1]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, M/M, POV Lucas Lallemant, daphne is a great indirect matchmaker, eliott has a cat, lucas likes plants, the sweet sweet sounds of domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-18 22:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alismithpdf/pseuds/alismithpdf
Summary: after his plan to move in with yann falls through, eliott offers up his spare room. it is, thankfully, only temporary, because seeing eliott every morning, sleep warm and snarky, is starting to do things to his heart.





	spring

The whole situation is absurd.

It’s the kind of truly bad luck that Lucas is uncomfortably familiar with. The very week Basile and Daphné are supposed to be moving in together, freeing up a room in Yann’s apartment Lucas had been planning on taking, Daphné comes out as a lesbian. It has a number of consequences. Most notably: Basile and her breaking up (obviously), and Basile staying in his apartment with Yann with a steady supply of alcohol, tissues and questions.

Lucas cares, of course he does. He’s sad for Basile, happy for Daphné. They're both his friends, and he's intimately aware of how hard it is to come to terms with your sexuality, to journey from shame to pride. So he cares, but most of his mental energy is devoted to screaming fuck on repeat and with many exclimation points because he is now, once again, functionally homeless. Or, he will be in a week, because his landlord has already found someone to take his place. The one time he allowed himself to be optimistic this year by letting his apartment go before he had 100% moved into a new place, and this is his reward. 

He does have _ some _ options. Yann has a nice couch that is barely stained. It would be cramped, and most of his stuff would need to go into storage, but it’s an option. Admittedly, not a great one given the sheer magnitude of Basile’s devastation and guilt, and how Lucas living on his couch would probably only add to it, but still an option. Mika still has the couch Lucas lived on when he left home and stumbled into Mika’s generosity. A couch that actually folds out into a bed, which makes it option number one. It also has the added bonus of Mika being unlikely to spread around his predicament to everyone Lucas has ever talked to, except maybe to Lisa and Manon, but Lisa doesn’t talk to Lucas’ friends outside of Imane, and Manon is good at discretion. 

Very technically he could ask his father for help, but the toll that conversation would have on his _ entire being _ makes it a last resort, end of the world, burned all other bridges type option. Thankfully he isn’t quite there yet. He very well might be at some point, but not yet. Thank the universe for small mercies. 

A few days after the news breaks, and Lucas had been panic-searching through as many apartment or room rental places as he can find between work and uni for something in his budget and available in _ less than a week _ with exactly zero luck, he lands at Imane’s house. More specifically, on her floor in the living room, sparkling pop playing in the background, and the occasional laugh or shout coming from her brother and his friends.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when Imane has been quiet for a while. Well, a few minutes. She’s sitting behind him, so he bends his neck down, the back of his head digging uncomfortably into the hard floor, until he can see her in all her upside down glory. His neck and skull starts complaining after a few seconds, just long enough for Imane to meet his eyes. He relaxes back into staring at the ceiling. It’s very high, and he can see a dark smudge that looks suspiciously like something was thrown a little bit too high, or someone had underestimated their strength a little bit too much. 

Maybe that’s why Lucas has only ever seen the boys throwing the football outside. 

Has he ever seen _ any _ball inside? 

He squints at the ceiling and the dark mark that is quite spherical, searching his memory but coming up with nothing to support nor refute it. He should pay better attention to his surroundings.

“How different this conversation is to the one I had with Daphy yesterday,” comes Imane’s answer.

“That’s it?”

“That’s the relevant part.”

“Well, my conversation with her was also very different to this,” he says, then groan-slash-whines to the ceiling, the noise akin to furniture being dragged across hardwood floors. “Imane, what am I going to do?”

“You’re going to go and make some more tea, and bring back the bag of grapes in the fridge. Then I’m going to help you look for places, and ask around if anyone has a spare room -”

“No! you can’t. Or, you can, but only if it’s not any of our friends. They can’t - I don’t want anyone to be focusing on me right now. Daphy and Basile need everyone’s support right now, this isn’t that important, it’s just -”

“Collateral damage?”

“I guess,” Lucas allows. “The boys and Daphy already know what’s going on, that’s more than enough people.”

Lucas can’t see her, but knows she’s pursing her lips. It’s that kind of silence. Finally, she acquiesces. 

“Fine, okay.”

“Thanks, Imane.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, glib, but he can hear her smile. He feels his shoulders unwind, just a bit, as the next twenty four hours feel somewhat more manageable. The blessed Bakhellal effect. A melody of loud boisterous laughter falls into the room from upstairs, adding to the upbeat music coming from the speakers. Something about - dancing? Some kind of dance until you figure your shit out advice. Not awful advice, really.

“Imane, the fuck are we listening to?”

“Whatever Spotify wants us to listen to. Go make some tea. Do you remember where we keep it?”

Lucas unfolds himself off of the floor and scoffs. “As if I’ve ever forgotten anything.”

Imane rolls her eyes. He goes to the kitchen. 

When he rounds the corner someone is already standing at the sink filling the kettle with water. He’s wearing a baby pink shirt, black sweatpants rolled up to his calves (potentially the exact same sweatpants Lucas is also wearing), and a very focused expression. A familiar someone, Lucas realises, as he takes in the curve of his nose, the scatter of moles, his hair grown out from its previous buzzcut. It’s enough to make Lucas pause, to stop where he is and watch as he turns off the tap and returns the kettle, flicking the switch on, all the while wearing that same concentrated look, completely absorbed in something Lucas can’t see or reach. He almost doesn’t want to interrupt, but it’s either that or get caught watching him, which would be infinitely worse. 

He taps his knuckles against the door frame, the sound almost lost underneath and gurgle of the kettle. Regardless, Eliott turns towards the noise, focus broken. 

“Oh!” surprise widens his eyes, makes his mouth open slightly. “Lucas, hi, I didn’t see you there,” he says with a quiet laugh. If it was anyone else Lucas would interpret it as being bashful, but the situation scarcely calls for it, and he hardly knows Eliott well enough to read him anyway. 

“Yeah, hi.” Lucas hasn’t seen him since the carnival night Imane’s boyfriend had organised a couple months ago. Not that long, but time enough for him to have acquired a new tattoo on his forearm, some sheet music, the black clean and stark against his pale skin. When his gaze drifts back up to Eliott’s face, his eyebrows are knitted.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but we’ve met -”

“A few times, yeah. I remember,” he interrupts with a smile. As if Lucas would forget the hours they’ve spent together. “Basile still has the minion you gave him.”

Eliott laughs, the crease between his eyebrows relaxing. “Seriously? I thought for sure he would have re-gifted it by now. Why does he -”

“We think he’s a Facebook mum in training. So thank _ you _ for contributing to that.” He opens up one of the cupboards (because he _ does _ remember where they keep the tea, thank you Imane), and is hit with a combination of scents, peppermint and chamomile and ginger. It’s comforting. Nice. He plucks out two peppermint tea bags, crunches the dried leaves between his fingers.

“Awakening that side of him definitely wasn’t my intention, but at least he won’t reach his final form for at least another decade.”

When Lucas turns around there are three mugs on the counter. Seeing Lucas eyeing them, Eliott snatches the ugly floral one and cradles it in his hands. The remaining two, one printed with turquoise glitter, the other featuring a terrifying mermaid sitting on sharp rocks, are evidently for him. He smiles in thanks. 

“Small mercies,” Lucas agrees. “We will all need to relish the peaceful interim years.”

“Once you get over your homelessness, you mean,” Eliott says, and immediately looks mortified. The kettle clicks off, and on auto pilot Lucas fills the mugs. Eliott’s fingers, still clutching his mug to his chest, go white with how hard he’s holding it. If Eliott, who he has met a maximum of five times, knows about this, literally anyone else in the world might know. It might be on the news. His cohort’s Facebook group might be discussing it this very second.

"My - how did you hear about it?" 

"Fuck. Um,” he looks away then back again, one of his hands making an aborted movement towards his face. “You aren't quiet when you're ranting?” he says like a question. When Lucas raises his eyebrows, he shrugs, an attempt at being casual. “We, uh, overheard some of conversation. Not intentionally, but, I mean, acoustics, right?” 

Okay yeah, Lucas can believe that. He tends to get loud with any emotion approaching rage. Imane made him prepare them tea to try and calm him down earlier, and it worked, thus his ending up on the floor, but before that he was mostly pacing with hands flying and going through every point of annoyance in his life while Imane sat with the patience of a saint and let him go off, only injecting a few eyebrow twitches and vague noises of agreement now and then. 

He doesn't quite know what he'd do without her, really. 

"So you now know about every complaint I've ever had?" 

"If that was all of them, then yes. Why do you hate couches so much? And oranges? What did vitamin C ever do to you?" 

"Vitamin C decided to favour the one fruit I fucking hate, that's what it did." Honestly he hasn’t had one in a while, so maybe the situation has changed, but those are just measley details. 

"Bit of a chicken and egg situation. And the couches?" he adds when Lucas just shrugs. 

He sends him a flat smile that hopefully isn't hostile. "You have to level up to get that story." 

"I'll add it to my bucket list," Eliott accepts easily. "So, uh, do you have a plan, really?" 

"I... have a few less than great options. Plan A is, tragically, a couch, that I won't get any sleep on because Mika refuses to get another one, one that doesn't hate me and my spine personally."

Eliott nods seriously but his head tilts to the side, mouth quirked. "One of the great mysteries, that is. You put so much positive energy into the world and furniture in particular. Mika’s couch should be your biggest fan."

"Ha ha," he says as drily as possible. "Mocking me for my upcoming homelessness and couch war is homophobia, I’ll have you know."

"Is it still homophobia if I’m not straight either?" 

Well. Lucas gives himself a very dignified moment to adsorb that information. "Then it’s... classism? Discrimination against STEM students?" He narrows his eyes and tries to find more. They both have brown hair and blue eyes, but... "Heightism?" 

This time Eliott narrows his eyes. Not like he’s suspicious, more like he’s processing. "Is that... a thing?" he asks, voice slow and careful like he’s stumbling into a field that may or may not be strategically hiding coral snakes. Lucas’ lips twitch, amusement blooming bright orange. 

"Well," he straightens his spine, tamps down the beginnings of a smile. "If you have to _ ask _ it just means you have the privilege of not having to think about it."

Kudos Lucas.

Peals of laughter fall out of Eliott's throat and he sends over an appreciative look, like Lucas has done something impressive.

Lucas has just opened his mouth to say - something, whatever, he’d figure it out as he goes, when a loud “Demaury!” is thrown into the room. Lucas decidedly _ doesn’t _jump, because this isn’t a haunted house, but Eliott flinches and looks a little thrown. He’s still holding the mug, but whatever he planned to do with it (like, perhaps, fill it with hot water) must’ve slipped his mind.

“I should, uh, get back. but, Lucas?” Eliott asks, his fingers tapping along the curve of his bottom lip. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I have a spare room in my place if you need somewhere to stay. I’m pretty easy to live with, and you would be able to sleep on an actual bed,” he adds with a hesitant smile that drops after a second. “No pressure or anything, and you don’t have to say yes or no now, but, uh, please consider it.”

“I -”

“Where the fuck did you go!?”

“Calm down, Alaoui! I’m coming!” Eliott shouts back, then smiles at Lucas. “It was nice running into you again, Lucas.” he snatches a handful of grapes then bounds out of the room, almost jogging. 

“You’re so needy,” Lucas hears him say, the volume muffled, and then things go quiet again. 

Lucas stares at the mugs, steam gently wafting to the ceiling, peppermint soaking into the water, and pondering Eliott’s offer, his generosity and kindness. They don’t know each other very well, but their respective best friends _ are _ dating, which kind of makes them best friends in law. It isn’t a bond Lucas thought was particularly significant or that encourages massive favours, but that must be why Eliott offered. The last time they hung out ended up with them tipsy at a skate park after leaving the carnival together, the moon bright, the surrounding grass freshly cut and fragrant, and the ground uneven and messy, leading to Lucas stacking it and giving him a new scar on his knee. Afterwards the moon was still bright, and the grass freshly cut, but their combined intoxicated laughter bounced into the air, Lucas’ ribs hurting from the strain, lying on the hard ground and the few visible stars winking at him, Eliott’s golden joyful laughter bunching his cheeks up, crinkles appearing beside his eyes like folds in fabric, like velvet curtains that will open and give you the best show of your life.

* * *

**Operation Harmony and Suffering Reduction **

_ Daphné: Hey guys! I know things have been tense and awkward but I really don’t want it to be. Basile and I have talked and agreed that we should all get together sometime this week. Neither of us want what happened to make people choose sides or cause tension between the group, so please try and find some time soon for us to hang out! The weather has been so beautiful so maybe we could go outside, like Luxembourg Gardens? _

Responses of support and agreement trickle in throughout the day, and eventually everyone blocks out a few hours on Saturday to meet up. The deadline to be out of his apartment is Monday and he’s had no luck finding a place he can move to before someone else calls his off-white walls and small kitchen home. Except Eliott’s offer. His very generous offer that gets more and more tempting the longer he scans through flowery descriptions and carefully framed photos of potential apartments. The stress starts eating into his sleep, but he keeps reminding himself that he has other options, a veritable menu of couches to float between. And his actual bed, if he so chooses. 

He thinks he might choose.

They stake out a couple tables close to the carousel on Saturday, the air fresh with spring, the flora thriving in the wake of winter, the sun gently compelling people to enjoy her. He pauses briefly when he spots Eliott among the group, but Sofiane is also there sitting with Imane and Alexia, and as Lucas walks up to the tables Idriss walks up with a couple bottles of something bright blue and hands one to Eliott. Lucas would rather not have an audience when he talks to Eliott, and Basile and Arthur are nowhere to be seen but Daphné is sitting with Manon, spine extremely straight and a stubbornly cheerful smile on her face. 

Manon slides over a plate of banana bread when he sits down next to Daphné, and they chat about nothing serious for a bit before Manon gets a call and walks off to answer it. Lucas bumps his shoulder against Daphné's. 

“You’re okay?”

"Sure!" Daphné says, but Lucas knows that voice. It's the voice that says she's being artificiality happy and put together and okay so no one will be inconvenienced or feel the need to go out of their way to comfort her, to put their energy into helping her. He knows it well. This generation of Lallemants and Lecomtes share more than just a first letter. 

“Daphy.”

“No, truly. I mean, I still feel awful about, you know, how it happened, and things aren’t completely great, but they will be. They will be,” she repeats, assuring both Lucas and herself, and requesting it of the universe. 

Lucas furrows his eyebrows but nods. “You’re right. You’ll be great, Daphy.”

“And so will you.” She smiles kindly, eyes determined, and pops some banana bread into her mouth. He follows her lead, and by the time Manon returns the plate is empty save for crumbs, and they’re discussing how soundproof the abandoned building on their campus might be, the things they might be able to do with it.

An hour or so later the group has shrunk as people leave for work or other obligations. Both Idriss and Sofiane have left and Eliott sits alone, staring at the carousel and the people gathered around it, rapt, like he's seeing something interesting. There’s a group of girls who are all wearing something orange, a pair of young kids, possibly siblings, holding hands, a cluster of people looking at the ride go around, waving occasionally and talking amongst themselves. 

Yann and Emma are deep in a conversation Lucas isn't following and wouldn't be able to catch up on. When he gets up they don't notice. When he sits down next to Eliott, his eyes linger on the carousel but nudges his knee against Lucas thigh in greeting. Lucas spares another glance at the ride, the group of girls in orange seems to have grown in size, a man solemnly places a tiara on his daughter’s head as she grins broadly at him, and when he looks back at Eliott, blue grey eyes are already on him.

Eliott must be able to tell he's here for a reason, not just to say hello, because doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows and smiles expectantly. Sitting this close to him Lucas can smell coconut-y sunscreen and lavender, can see the faint freckles on his nose the sun has tempted out of hiding. Lucas bites his lip but goes for it. 

"Is your offer still open?" 

Eliott's eyes might brighten, but that might just be the sun. "It is." 

The remaining hours on the countdown flash across his eyes in terrible red. "When... when can I move in?" 

He taps at his bottom lip, a drum beat to think against, and Lucas tries not to let his anxiety show. "Hm. What are you doing tomorrow?" 

"I’m working in the morning, but nothing in the afternoon," he answers. He doesn’t know what he expected, but this feels simpler than it should. A bird lands on the table and lets out a single squawk, potentially in agreement with Lucas’ thoughts.

"Perfect! Move in then. I’ll help you move your things if you'd like."

"I don't have much."

Eliott shrugs as if to say it doesn’t matter either way, like offering to help someone move is a completely chill everyday thing to offer. The bird squawks again then flies off, message conveyed, job done.

Lucas nudges his knee against Eliott’s and smiles as kindly as he knows how. "Thank you so much, seriously. And don’t worry, it’ll just be temporary." 

"It’s okay, Lucas. I’m happy I can help. The room was supposed to be a studio for me to work, but I can never get into the right head space in there so it's empty and sad. Oh! Fuck.” his eyes grow wide, concerned, and Lucas braces for rejection, for yet another thing to fall through. Spring was supposed to be the season of rejuvenation and growth, so anytime the universe wanted to give him that, it would be great. He braces himself for a forgotten long lost cousin Eliott has promise to house. “Are you allergic to cats?” 

Lucas stares. "You -” he coughs, panic retreating. There’s a chance he gets ahead of himself sometimes. “You have a cat?" 

Eliott nods, a small smile blooming. "Her name is Rocket. You know, like, after the raccoon?"

The word adorable floats across his mind. “I’m not allergic to cats,” he says instead. 

“Then great! Here,” he pushes his phone into Lucas’ hands. “Give me your number, we can organise details tonight.”

Lucas nods, and does as he’s told. Maybe, sometimes, it is that easy. 

* * *

If there's one thing living in a basement when he was sixteen taught him, it's how to whittle his belongings down when necessary. And because this is a temporary solution, what he takes to Eliott's is two duffle bags and a single box along with his mattress that he can roll up. Almost everything else goes into storage. The only issue is what to do with his plants. Eventually he decides to give them to Manon to look after. Between her and the rest of the coloc they should hopefully survive okay until he can reclaim them. He won't be here long, and he doesn't want to have a whole life of belongings to settle then repack when he moves out again. Which will probably be soon, just as fast and he can find the time, or until he accidentally fucks up and has to leave. Eliott isn’t mean enough to throw him out on the street, but Lucas imagines his sad eyes are tragic, and his anger awful. Either way, a very powerful incentive to rapidly leave the premises. 

The actual moving process goes by relatively quickly and easily, and he’s settled within Eliott’s apartment, his temporary home, in under an hour. It’s a nice place, decorated by someone with an eye for aesthetics, with candles scattered around the various rooms, a corner of the living room that must be dedicated to Rocket, a pile of toys and a cat tree that looks like a modern sculpture, and a lot of light flowing into the living room and kitchen. Eliott stands quiet and still as he looks around, shoulders a little bunched up like he’s waiting for Lucas’ verdict and he’s not sure it’ll be a positive one. Because Eliott, as a person, is clearly absurd and is apparently expecting rejection from behind every corner. _ Absurd_. 

“I like it,” he says after taking it in to take that look off of his face, and it works, shoulders relaxing and nodding once. “It’s nice. Very you.”

“Thanks. Your room is this way,” he says, and nods to one of the doors coming off of the living room. His room, as promised, is almost completely bare when he drops his belongings in it, the only colour coming from the trees he can see through his window and a wooden dresser in the corner. It’s honestly a little unnerving how blank it is in the context of the rest of the apartment. Not even any marks on the walls or roof. Definitely no careless ball games in here. 

Eliott is standing looking out a window when he reenters the living room, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets and head tilted down slightly and eyebrows furrowed. People watching. And watching something concerning at that. 

“Anything interesting out there?” he asks and Eliott quirks his lips.

“So many cyclists almost died while you were unpacking.”

“Are you suggesting a correlation between my presence in this room and the lives of random cyclists? That’s a lot of pressure to put on a guy,” he says, and finally Eliott turns away from the window to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, did I not mention that earlier? There are two conditions to living here: be nice to my cat, and control the life spans of people reducing their carbon footprint.”

Lucas scrunches his nose. “I will be a merciful and absent God. And more importantly, where _ is _Rocket?”

His face immediately softens into amusement. “Hiding in my room. She’ll probably avoid you for a few days but she’s nice once she approves of you.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Eliott waves the very legitimate question away. “She will. All the Demaury’s do. Want the WiFi password?” He asks, which begins a spiel of information about living in the apartment, including his key, where to do laundry, and a brief tour of the rest of the place, which ends in the kitchen with Eliott grabbing them beers and Lucas appreciating one of his tea towels, which is printed with the periodic table of elements in garish neon colours on a black background, along with doodles of random things (including a unicycle, a trident, and a pineapple), also in neon, that are presumably there because they’re made up of those elements. He loves it. He should get one for himself, it’s an embarrassment he doesn’t have at least three already. 

“I don’t think I know where you work,” Eliott says, leaning casually against the counter. 

“Uh, at an escape room. It’s a lot funner than you’d think. I don’t - do you have a job?”

“Nah. I do some commission work sometimes but that’s it. I tried to have a real job but with uni it, uh, got a bit much.”

Lucas nods. He gets that, like, a lot. Unfortunately most of the time his response to things getting _ too much _ is crying and punching things and then running full force at the things, screaming if necessary, until he can breathe again. Eliott’s response of clean elimination sounds a lot healthier. 

“Fair. Plus, you’re doing animation right? I’ve heard that it’s pretty intense.”

“You’re studying _ biochemistry._”

“Simpler than animation,” Lucas maintains. Eliott opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, so Lucas beats him to it. “No, no, it’s amazing and requires talent and perseverance and creativity and whatever. Just let yourself be impressive, Eliott. Accept the truth of the universe.”

“I didn’t realise there was a truth to the universe,” he says instead of actually addressing the point of what Lucas said. Which is wise, because it’d be a battle Lucas would win.

“I’m now a minor God, remember? I know these things.”

“I was the one who _ made _ you a God. Shouldn’t that give me more knowledge or something than you?”

“Well,” Lucas starts and considers the question. Most of his immediate thoughts spring from his Catholic upbringing and the snippets of knowledge that have stuck in his memory, but that’s not the most useful base for this conversation. Eyes wandering while he thinks, he spots a bottle with a white cap on the counter. Too late he realises it’s some kind of medicine, and doesn’t have time to avert his eyes before Eliott follows his eyeline and pinches his lips. 

“Right,” he says, voice _ just _different enough from a few moments ago Lucas knows he’s stumbled upon something that wasn’t his to find.

“It’s none of my business. You don’t have to, like, explain or whatever,” he says, somewhat in a rush. 

Eliott shakes his head, huffs out a humourless laugh. “It’s fine. It’s not for a terminal illness or anything. I’m just bipolar.” He says it with a shrug, but his eyes are harder than they were a few seconds ago, ocean waves turned to sea glass. Lucas doesn’t let his face do anything dramatic, but he internally frowns. The reaction hints at stories that aren’t pleasant, and there’s a pang in his chest thinking about the unkindness and hurt that may have been inflicted in them.

“Okay,” he says easily, mildly, and nods towards the open shelves Eliott uses as a cupboard, the first thing he can see in his peripheral vision. “Is there any particular order to your food or can I put my stuff anywhere?”

Eliott darts his eyes to the cupboard and back. When Lucas gets a look at them again, his eyes have melted back to ocean water. The right move, then. 

“If you put cans with the sauces I may have to throw you out.”

Lucas nods seriously. “What if it’s a grey area?”

“Bring it to me, and I’ll get the committee to decide,” he says just as seriously, then smiles softly. 

Lucas smiles back, the curve of his lips automatic. The kitchen smells like ginger, home-y and warm, and windchimes gently sing from the other side of the apartment. In the corner of the room, are orange tulips, freshly bloomed and optimistic. 

* * *

When Lucas opens his eyes the next morning, it’s to mild confusion, almost-silence, cold toes where his blanket bunched up during the night, and the glorious smell of coffee. He stretches out, arms over his head, and just lays there for a few minutes listening to the faint sounds of traffic, mind slowly gathering together into coherency. He doesn’t have class for a few hours still, and then he works until late, and _ then _ he has readings and class prep to do, but he can spend a few minutes enjoying the very simple pleasure of having slept under a roof, in his own room, on something that isn’t a couch, and without having to go to his father for anything. 

Monday’s are awful and everything, but this one has made a convincing argument. 

After roughly ten minutes the craving for coffee and food draws him out of bed and into clothes in an attempt at modesty. It is, evidently, a concern only he has, because he finds Eliott in the kitchen cradling a cup of coffee wearing only boxers, an unzipped hoodie, and an expression of being profoundly unimpressed with the world. 

It’s a lot of elements to stumble onto unaware. Lucas runs a hand through his hair, feels it settle lopsidedly, and seriously considers the option of going back to bed. But he _ is _hungry, and in desperate need of caffeine, and if this is a regular occurrence Lucas will have to get acclimatised to it eventually anyway. Pushing his hair around again, he throws out a greeting, and Eliott replies with a low noise that is all vowels. 

“Are you...okay?"

He makes a small wounded noise. “It’s so fucking early, Lucas. I fucking hate the future.”

“You… right. If we weren’t in the future you’d still have to wake up early. Probably earlier.”

“No one asked for your opinion.”

“No,” Lucas agrees, desperately trying to stop his smile. It would do exactly zero good if Eliott thought Lucas was making fun of him. “Uh, do you want some breakfast?”

“You _ cook _?” he asks, voice incredulous, like Lucas has just dropped a family of domesticated blue hedgehogs on the floor instead of offering to cook food. 

“I can. You _ don’t _?”

Eliott sends him a dark look. “It’s too _ early _ for _ noise _.”

Lucas can do little more than stare at him. _ Wow _. This was amazing. This was incredible. This was Christmas morning come early. And Christmas morning required food. As did his body and the various systems that kept him alive. “If I make us breakfast will you stab me?”

Eliott squints a little, considering the offer as he takes another sip. “No,” he lands on, then asks “Do you need help?” in a voice that is all ingrained politeness and the desperate hope Lucas will say no. 

Lucas shakes his head just as Rocket wanders into the room making small demanding noises. It’s the first time Lucas has seen her, something that makes this morning even better. She’s a beautiful tiny thing, her glossy fur a patchwork of ginger, black, and white, and her face a perfect division of solid black and solid orange. A very reluctant smile etches onto Eliott’s face when he sees her. 

“Go entertain her, I’ll bring it to you.”

“Okay,” Eliott says, and follows Rocket out into the living room easily enough after refilling his mug. 

He makes scrambled eggs, a lot of them, because he’s suddenly starving, with an assortment of fried sides and an apple he finds, because fruit. Eliott is sat on the floor when Lucas is done, teasing Rocket with some kind of rainbow worm toy that he keeps snatching away so it’s always _ just _ outside of her reach. When he sees Lucas and the food, though, he lets Rocket have her kill and drops the toy in favour of the plate Lucas puts on the coffee table. Eliott doesn’t bother moving to sit on the couch so Lucas doesn’t either. The floors are wooden, but the extremely comfortable rug under the coffee table makes it comfortable enough. 

When Eliott looks mostly awake and human, their plates clear and several cups of coffee consumed, Lucas brings up something he’d forgotten to ask before agreeing to this whole thing and can’t put off anymore. “So, we haven’t talked about rent.”

Eliott nods like he was expecting the question. “I know. This month’s rent has already been paid, so I don’t see the point of having you paying anything right now. But if you’re still living here when the next month rolls around, we can split it or something.”

“Oh.” How did he do that, make things so simple? 

His eyebrows immediately knit together. “Is that not okay? I just thought that was the easiest, but we can discuss it further if you want.” 

His smooth transition throughout the morning from snarky to sweet and considerate is kind of remarkable. Not what he expected, and better than anything he might’ve imagined. “No, no, that’s fine. I just, I don’t know, thought you might say something else.”

“Oh. Okay. Well,” he shrugs, the movement throwing sunlight onto his collarbones. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. I’ll do the dishes?” 

* * *

A list of what Lucas learns in his first few days of living with Eliott: he meditates in the evenings, he makes good and confusing use of his spice rack, and he is awful at crosswords. Also: Lucas may not survive existing in close proximity to him. Every morning their schedules overlap and they share is like that first one: Eliott grumbling with pointed accusing eyes at the world that forced his early consciousness but eating whatever Lucas makes without complaint, sitting on the ground with Rocket, and way too much bare skin visible below his boxers because _ it's too early for my legs to be trapped, Lucas. Pants are an extravagance. _

After almost a week Lucas comes to expect it, but the combination of it all is still a lot, an assault on his senses that have grown out of the habit of cohabitation. 

Their afternoons and evenings haven't been quite as entwined, various commitments and inclinations keeping them out of the apartment and largely separated while inside. Lucas is mostly trying not to infringe on Eliott's typical habits too much, trying to make the transition as smooth and annoyance free as possible. 

But he gets home one afternoon, a morning of classes and studying with Imane behind him, and Eliott is sitting on the couch, Rocket sleeping by his feet, and a book in his hands but staring over it out the window, his expression not exactly blank, but less animate that Lucas is used to. When Lucas calls out a greeting and Eliott looks at him, the only word Lucas can think to describe his eyes is melancholic.

Which. 

His chest aches a little at the sight, at the thought of Eliott being unhappy or hurt, and wonders how difficult it would be to soften every edge in the world so ensure he doesn’t bleed on any of them. It might take some time and creativity but he could do it. For now, though, he doesn’t know a lot about Eliott but hopefully understands enough to alleviate whatever he’s feeling, even if just for a few hours. He doesn’t know where this protectiveness over Eliott’s feelings came from, but he doesn’t question it. 

He drops his bag and toes off his shoes. “I’m going to make some tea, do you want some?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks,” he says, voice a little gravelly like he hasn’t spoken in a while, or has maybe just woken up. This wasn’t a morning they were up at the same time, the apartment quiet while Lucas went through the motions and left for class, so it’s not impossible. Lucas sends him a quicksilver smile and comes back with two mugs of the black tea Eliott favours. 

The book in his hands is large with a minimalist cover, a quote on the cover promising a subversive and powerful tale. The type of book Lucas doesn’t have the patience for. Eliott accepts the tea with a quiet _ merci _ and Lucas curls up on the other couch, looking out the window to give him privacy. He doesn’t really drink tea, but this type is good, if a little sweet because he’d added too much sugar, and with the wind chimes on the window chiming every so often, it’s peaceful. Beyond his view he can hear Eliott shift and the dull sound of something being placed on the table. 

“How was your day?” Eliott asks, voice less gravelly. Lucas takes another sip and tells him, goes over weird things his professors said, Imane’s completely wrong opinion on whether or not ghosts can ride in cars, a cat he found on Instagram that looks exactly like Rocket but who is obviously inferior, the list of hobbies the boys had helped put together with Basile for things he could throw himself into. When he returns the question to Eliott, turning to look at him for the first time since he’d delivered tea, he gets a wry smile. 

“Grey.”

“Hm. Do you want more tea?”

Confused eyebrows get added to his expression. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. No, I don’t.”

“Okay.” He casts his eyes around for something else and sweeps over the TV twice before it occurs to him. Should have been the very first thing he’d thought of, honestly. 

“Want to watch a movie? You must have a list of movies you like to watch when you’re sad,” Lucas says.

Eliott watches Lucas carefully, then nods. “But you don’t have to - “

“Eliott,” he starts, then softens his voice because this might not just be Eliott being stubborn. He purses his lips, glances around for some words. “If you don’t want to watch anything, or you don’t want to watch anything with _ me _, that’s completely fine. I get it. but, I’d like to watch something with you.” 

Eliott’s shoulders, that had been climbing towards his ears, drop with a soft sigh, and he gestures to a shelf, because of course he has physical copies of his favourite comfort movies. Lucas smiles softly at the detail, and at the fact that, had he been asked, he might’ve guessed it for himself. He never would have been able to a few weeks ago. On the shelf, which is _ just _ in Lucas’ eyeline, because his genetic line failed him on many levels, are: Mad Max Fury Road, Howl's Moving Castle, Moana, The Fall, Paddington, and Amélie. 

“Do you have a preference?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of the shelf, and grabs Paddington when Eliott says no. 

Despite what he said, Eliott does end up making more tea, and about half an hour in he starts throwing bits of trivia about the movie and actors out. Lucas can’t contribute much more than inane comments every so often. When the credits roll the sky has darkened and, perhaps it’s just wishful thinking, but he thinks Eliott’s eyes are a little lighter, a little more focused. 

“I’ll make dinner. Spaghetti?”

“Sure. Do you want help?”

Eliott shakes his head. “No, I’m good. Stay.”

Lucas stays. 

* * *

He has a sinking suspicion Eliott put nutmeg into the sauce. The result was unusual and unexpected, but not necessarily bad. It’s something he can get used to.

* * *

Roughly two weeks after moving in, weeks of finding and discarding potential new homes, of overlapping deadlines because every professor in the faculty has chosen the same days for assessments to be due, of tentative new routines of people learning how to live together, Arthur suggests the boys go bar hopping, and Lucas enthusiastically agrees. After a few hours Basile, still in the process of getting over Daphné, maneuvers bar hopping into club hopping, and Lucas doesn’t emerge from the fog of dancing bodies and bright drinks, dark lights and hands wandering to pulsing EDM, until almost six, the barest suggestion of the sun on the horizon while the moon clings bright in the fading sky. 

The Uber drops him off, unsteady and hands repeatedly patting his pockets just in case something important falls out or disappears, half an hour later. In the elevator he shares it with someone who clearly woke up this side of the morning who gives him and his sweaty tipsy body a politely tolerant look when he steps in. 

He gets through the door and is immediately greeted with Rocket running up and using his legs as a scratching post. He smiles down at her, her white socks and multicoloured face and tiny tiny forehead that is bumping into his shins. She does the raccoon proud. Does everyone proud. Past Eliott was a visionary for choosing her out of all of the cats at the shelter. He picks her up and holds her close to his chest, sticks his face in her fur. She starts purring loudly and kneading into his shoulder. He hums into her fur and walks further into the room, toeing off his shoes with minimal stumbling and cursing, taking in the cold air, some light coming from the kitchen, the perpetual smell of ginger. 

“Lucas?” Eliott asks, and he jumps, skin prickling, clutching Rocket closer. Of course, once she realises her favourite person is in the room she jumps from his arms and trots over to wind between Eliott’s legs.

Eliott, coming out of the kitchen with a half full glass of water. Eliott who is also awake at whatever ungodly hour it is. Eliott looking at him like he’s seen a ghost, or a superhero without their mask on, or a particularly vibrant flamingo that, while lovely, he just wasn’t expecting. Lucas can relate. 

They left one of the windows open, and the cool breeze, despite carrying the faint scent of smoke, does wonders to clear his head.

“You’re up...early?”

Lucas shakes his head. “Late.” Eliott hums, nods. Lucas takes him in, the remnants of eyeliner, his shirt tighter than he usually wears around the house, and especially to sleep. “You, though? Early?”

He shakes his head, an acknowledging smile quirking his lips. “Also late. Are you hungry?”

Lucas takes a moment to take stock of his body: still a bit tipsy, feet sore, and a vague gnawing in his stomach that could be a lot of things. “A little, I guess, but definitely for caffeine.”

“Want to go get breakfast? Places should be opening soon.”

“Sounds good. I have to shower, first, though.” _ Badly_.

Eliott glances at his various limbs like he might be able to see the sweat clinging to his skin. “Go ahead,” he says, and throws his chin towards the bathroom door. “I’ll go after you, then we can leave.”

Lucas squints. there’s something about that which isn’t quite - “This is your apartment, you can shower first.” Lucas wasn’t exactly raised _ well _ but he still has manners. 

Eliott, though, sighs loud and long and what must be entirely for show, as though Lucas is being deliberately difficult. “Lucas, take the shower,” he says, voice solid like a slab of crystal. Admirable, really, given the hour, and the exhaustion framing his eyes, and his probable blood alcohol content. 

Lucas showers. 

* * *

The cafe they choose is out of the way and quiet, only two other tables apart from theirs occupied. In one of them, a middle aged woman with lilac hair and reading a book the size of a brick. Every few pages whatever she’s reading makes her smile wide, the corners of her eyes crinkling and she laughs quietly, more air than noise. A family sits at the other table, two parents and their kid, young and annoyed but mouth reluctantly quirking every so often at something that’s said. The father sits with one arm around his wife’s shoulders and the other gesturing in random patterns, saying something that makes the woman laugh into her coffee. 

Their cozy corner isn’t nearly as animated, but Lucas likes it. 

Their table is made of dark brown wood. On it are their coffees in dark red mugs, a pot of tea, and plates only half finished, because they’re taking their time eating, and drinking, and sitting. It feels right to linger. Exhaustion has caught up with him and settles heavy in his muscles even as the caffeine tries to do its work. He feels faded, insubstantial and flimsy, awake long enough to be tired but not enough for his energy to rush back to get through the rest of the day. As such, he can do little more than consume and listen to Eliott talk, not looking faded in the least after a shower and food. His eyeliner survived the shower, dark grey and brightening the different shades of blue in his eyes. Lucas keeps focusing on it before forcefully flicking his eyes away, the cycle repeating every few minutes. 

"With a score like that, sometimes it means the movie is mediocre, but sometimes it means that some people loved it and others hated it, which implies that it's doing something interesting. And anyway, even in the worst movies there are things to appreciate. There’s value and beauty everywhere, you know?” 

“I guess,” Lucas hedges. He’s never really thought about it that deeply before, and spreading his affection wide isn't a strength of his. And at this hour he isn’t sure he knows much at all, but regardless, it’s nice to hear what Eliott knows.

“I think there is. You just have to start looking for it, and you’ll find it almost everywhere, even if it’s tiny. I honestly think it’s an incredible miracle any of this even exists. The impossibility of it all… I don’t know how else to react other than appreciate it.” He shrugs, gaze trained on the table and using a fingernail to etch a mark into it. “I don’t know. We’ve all got our coping mechanisms.”

Lucas raises his empty coffee cup. “To confronting the abyss,” he says. 

“To confronting the abyss,” Eliott agrees and clinks it with his own. 

There’s a smudge of chocolate on his bottom lip, and Lucas can’t control the way he focuses on it, too tired to stifle his impulses or the strands of imagined scenarios they provoke. Can’t control swallowing heavily. When he realises what he’s doing he gathers the strength to shift his gaze away, except then he lands on Eliott’s eyes, deep and dazzling in the early morning, tinted with something Lucas can’t read. 

He coughs and averts his eyes to his plate, the remnants of waffles syrup soaked and golden.

* * *

Eliott is hot, this is an objective fact. Anyone with eyes knows how attractive he is. But the sharp edge of his jawline starts paling in comparison to the way his eyes get wide and soft talking about his work volunteering at an animal shelter, his big hands gentle and careful while handling his records and books and DVDs. DVDs he's had for ages, and old kids books in their own shelf on his bookcase, three clay mugs that he made when he was younger. Sentimentality dripping into his apartment. 

So Lucas has a crush. But it’s fine. It’s manageable. Really, he should have seen it coming. The mornings continue to be devastating to his constitution. Their routines don’t always line up, but he cherishes the days when they do, the uncomplicated contentment they bring, how the warmth from sleeping sinks into Eliott’s skin and lingers, a mellow sun Lucas feels every time their hands brush or their sides meet or legs bump together. The heat from his coffee cup, from the food he makes for them, doesn’t even compare. He likes their shared mornings they have so much that it circles back into part of him loathing them. He sinks into their routine so easily, so comfortably, that it’s hard to remember this is only temporary. After he leaves, of course they’ll still be friends, will still hang out and watch movies and occasionally go out for food or drinks, but _ this _ will never happen again. 

There’s nothing he can do about it other than wait the feelings out, so he makes an attempt to spend more time out of the house with his friends, and throws himself into his coursework. Or, he tries to, but it’s hard to focus at home, in his room, it’s blank walls and lack of colour, his few belongings becoming irritatingly apparent as soon as he starts trying to draft assessments or power through textbooks. 

This, at least, is a situation he can do something about.

He finds Eliott in the living room, fiddling with some pliers and winds of copper wire, some pieces cut to different lengths littered on the coffee table. He looks up when Lucas walks in, pauses in using the pliers to twist two pieces of wire together. He puts the wire down but keeps hold of the pliers, flipping them between his fingers without looking. Lucas flicks his eyes down to watch, considers how capable his fingers are, wonders if he has any calluses and how they might feel against his own palm, then ties a neat bow around the thoughts, follows Eliott's lead and looks up and into his eyes instead. 

"Hi," he starts, his voice inadvertently kind of formal. Eliott immediately looks amused and folds his lips over a smile.

"Hi. Funny seeing you here."

Lucas rolls his eyes. When he talks again the formality is gone. "Can I ask a favour?"

"Yeah." he stops flipping the pliers and places them on the table. "What's up?"

"Could I bring some of my plants here? Right now they're at Manon's so it's fine if you're not okay with it, but I miss them. Can't focus as well without them. Which I know sounds ridiculous but -"

"It's not ridiculous. And yes, of course you can. I can't promise I'll be much use if you need me to take over at any point, but." He shrugs.

"Thank you. And don't worry, I won't bring them all, just four or five."

"You don't need to thank me, Lucas. I'm honestly being a bit selfish here. I've always liked the idea of keeping plants and stuff but every time I've tried they die. Hopefully yours survive me."

Lucas cocks his head to the side. "A lot of people think that but you just have to build up the habit of being attentive. Unless the issue is that you’re not getting the right plants, in which case you need to do that first and _ then _listen to it.” 

"I guess I don't have that touch."

"I’m sure you do. You probably just need to learn a bit more, you know? Can’t properly care for a plant you don’t know or understand." 

"I guess," he says, but not like he actually believes Lucas, which is rather unacceptable. Eliott doubting himself and his abilities isn't something Lucas thought he was sensitive to, but apparently he is. 

"I'll teach you, if you want. How to take care of them." Where he's standing places him directly under the stream of sunlight shooting into the room. It blurs the edges of his vision, something he didn't quite notice until it makes it hard to see the minute changes in Eliott's expression. He is sure something shifted. Or maybe it was just his imagination. 

Eliott hums vaguely. “Did you say _ ‘just _four or five’? How many do you have?”

“Well, assuming Manon hasn’t killed any since I last asked, fifteen. I like plants,” he adds defensively when Eliott’s mouth drops gapes a bit. Then his eyes narrow. 

“Are they named?”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Eliott points out, and, irritatingly, he’s not incorrect. “You have to name the next one after me. No! Name it after Rocket. She’ll love it.”

“Fuck _ off _.” He’s already turning around by the time he says it, but the impact is presumably approximately the same. He decides to keep believing this even as he can hear Eliott laugh quietly. 

* * *

He rescues his plants (triple checking none of them are poisonous for cats), after a detour to play a long game of monopoly with Mika, Lisa, and Manon that Lisa wins because she thrives on making people underestimate her, and the added colour and life in his room settles his skin. He's lucky the light is good enough here, honestly. It's another criteria he adds to the checklist for his next place. Adjacently be grabs his watering can, a baby pink one Rocket is deeply suspicious of, and takes comfort in carefully watering them for the first time in weeks. With Pink Floyd playing on his speakers and an iced coffee just consumed, it's a routine he hadn't realised he missed and one which he gratefully re-establishes. 

He dumps the remaining water into the sink, eyes the dishes that have been piling up since yesterday, then fills the sink with hot soapy water. He cleans on autopilot, mind wandering, and doesn’t register Eliott’s presence until he speaks.

“These are the happiest plants that have ever existed in my proximity.” Lucas smiles, secretly proud of his ability to keep things alive and healthy. Because _ fuck _ his father, and fuck inheriting paternal traits. "You're good at that, taking care of them," Eliott adds, voice weighted with something approximating seriousness.

Lucas shrugs, focuses on cleaning a particularly stubborn plate, and responds in kind because he thinks Eliott may want an actual answer. "I think it's important. Things are so temporary, you know? No one knows the future, entropy rules us all. So I think it's important to take care of the things and people you love, to create things, to nurture them, while you still have the chance to.”

“I get that,” Eliott says softly, the air between them shivering on the edge of depth and gravity, and then the fridge opens, bottles clinking. “Do you want a beer?” 

Lucas shifts his mouth to the side, doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or not at the tone shift. “Sure. I’ve just got to finish this first, though.”

“Okay,” Eliott says, and disappears.

A few minutes later, beer in hand, Lucas finds him in the living room.

"Want to watch something? You can choose."

"Sure. um, I don’t know what, though. Did the Disney empire release anything recently?"

Eliott winces. "Must we?"

"Too good for commercial focus grouped movies?"

"I’m not, like, morally opposed or anything. There's just nothing to learn from them." Lucas isn't going to argue with that. "Smaller productions tend to do more interesting things, even when they're bad. Unless you genuinely want to watch a Disney thing right now, of course."

He looks so earnest, like he'd willingly watch every mediocre Disney remake ever made if Lucas asked him to. A very soft feeling sinks into his chest. His body is not built to deal with these feelings. "No, my heart isn't set on it. I think you know about more not blockbuster movies than I do, so how about you choose a director and I'll choose which title?"

His grin grows lightening quick and obviously pleased. "Deal." he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. A list, probably, of a bunch of directors Lucas has never heard of. “Okay, how about Samira Makhmalbaf? I’ve been meaning to work through her filmography for ages.”

“Sounds, uh, great,” he says and tries to imbue his voice with some degree of assuredness to cover up his complete ignorance. Eliott’s amused gaze suggests he may have failed. “I, too, have been intending to watch her work. I’ve heard it’s very impressive.” Every word he says augments that amusement by a couple degrees, eyes warm like a sun soaked ocean. Lucas doesn’t think about how far he would go to keep that expression aimed at him.

“Life changing, even,” Eliott prompts, tone almost serious. Lucas tries to stifle his smile, but something blooms in his chest that makes it difficult to stop. 

“For viewers and the industry as a whole I’ve been told. She altered things for good, and for the better.” The more he talks the more certain he is that, yes, of course he is knowledgeable about cinema, and that Samira deserves a myriad of awards for her important work and contributions. 

“Iranian cinema was never the same,” Eliott says, something new in his voice Lucas can’t read. All of a sudden it feels like too much, Eliott’s eyes overwhelming, the feeling in his chest morphing into something with weight.

Lucas averts his eyes, faces forward towards the TV. He can see their reflection in the screen, indistinct and muted, so different to reality. “I hope she doesn't disappoint.”

The side of his face tingles under Eliott’s bafflingly lingering eyes. “I’m sure they won’t.” 

* * *

Being surrounded by green again helps his focus when doing course work, but also makes this place feel a lot more like _ home. _ His attempts at finding a new place have slowed considerably, enough that when the next month rolls around they end up splitting the rent. The figure Eliott gave him wasn’t that much larger than the rent at his last place, so he manages, but can feel himself melt into complacency, which is something he _ cannot _do when he has all these feelings swirling around in his stomach. No one else had ever inspired butterflies this strong before.

Other things that make him feel at home: the loathing looks Eliott shoots his phone when he uses it to watch YouTube while making breakfast or coffee in the morning, Rocket’s happy trill when Lucas walks through the door and scratches behind her ears, the afternoons they go grocery shopping together, laughing and debating brands. And this, sitting in quiet companionship in the living room, Eliott oscillating between his sketchbook, his phone, and a bright yellow hardcover, and Lucas bullying himself into catching up on his classes.

It's been happening more and more, them hanging out together but doing their own thing, throwing scrunched up bits of paper at one another or sending a message when they’ve got something to share or want a break, or nudges when they’re close enough to touch. As the weeks stretch on, it’s increasingly the latter. Lucas tries really hard not to read into it deeply when Eliott settles down close to him, places unnecessary hands of Lucas’ arms or back, tries to keep his somersaulting heart off of his expression. He doesn’t always manage successfully, but, well, if Eliott notices anything, suspects Lucas’ feelings are anything more than platonic, he’s polite enough to ignore it. 

When the sun sits low in the sky, burnt yellow and scorching the sky dark blue around it, Eliott sets his sketchbook down for the first time in what feels like hours, curling his fingers into a fist then shaking them out. Lucas registers the movement in his peripheral, his focus ostensibly on his textbook but more honestly thinking through the intricacies of Yann’s proposal to speak in limerick for a week if Lucas could give himself a helix piercing. 

“Want some hot chocolate?”

Lucas blinks over at him. “Sure, thanks.”

He uses the promise of a drink to give himself permission to give up on the reading, and grabs his phone, finding a string of messages from his group chat with the girls.

**Emma owes us muffins and Alexia 20 euros**

_ Alexia: Karaoke tonight??? Please??? The semester is killing me and I need to drink a lot and impress strangers _

_ Imane: I’m definitely in _

_ Daphné: Sounds great _

_ Emma: Same same same. I’m the best singer in this whole fucking country _

Lucas snorts. Emma is a terrible singer whose talent only wilts under the influence of alcohol or anything else. 

“Anything interesting?” Eliott asks, which is how Lucas realises he’s smiling to his phone and that Eliott has returned with their hot chocolate. One mug is covered in cartoon foxes, the other covered in Cyrillic characters Lucas doesn’t have a hope in translating. Either Eliott is hiding the fact that he can speak one of the languages that uses it, or he thought it would look appropriately cool in his mug collection. Lucas would bet money it’s the latter. He grabs the Cyrillic one. Eliott settles down with his spine against the armrest, legs tucked up, and the mug folded between his palms. With the soft sweet scent of chocolate permeating the room, and Rocket curled up under the table softly purring, the whole situation is unbearably endearing.

He takes a sip of the hot chocolate before he says something silly. “The girls are doing karaoke tonight and asked me to join.”

“Oh? You...sing? You sing _ karaoke _?” he asks, voice fifty shades of incredulous. 

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. I was fucking made for karaoke. _ It _ was made for _ me,” _he says confidently, and nods just to punctuate the message. Eliott is hiding half his face behind his mug but Lucas knows what his face looks like when he’s happy, any shade of happy, by now. 

“You of course realise you need to prove this to me, right? You’re a scientist. I need empirical evidence to support your hypothesis. And ideally some repeat experiments so I can be sure the first time isn’t just a fluke.”

“Oh yeah? Just you wait, Demaury. This is something you’re going to want to record for prosperity. In 50 years you’ll be talking to your grandkids and will tell them tales about how you were lucky enough to see France’s greatest singer, unknown and forgotten by history, _ live. _ And when they don’t believe you, you can pull out the footage to prove it.” 

“Bold words, Lallemant,” he returns, and Lucas is briefly distracted by the shape of his last name in Eliott’s voice. “I’m coming tonight. Better make it the best show of your life.”

Lucas scoffs. “As if they all aren’t. But you’re right, this is a night that will go down in history and you should be grateful I’m generous enough to let you be a part of it.”

He juggles his hands to find his phone, and brings up the group chat. He can hear Eliott let out an amused breath, and nudges Lucas’ ankle with his own. Another thing Lucas didn’t realise: their legs had stretched out somewhat, enough to meet in the middle, comfortable and inevitable enough that it hadn’t even registered. 

_ Lucas: Can I bring Eliott? _

_ Manon: Of course! _

_ Imane: Can *you* bring him huh _

_ Lucas: Shut up _

_ Manon: Very interesting wording _

_ Imane: The *implications* Lu _

_ Manon: What are you hiding from us? _

_ Alexia: Omg is that why you moved in together??? You definitely need to bring him _

_ Daphné: Lucas!!! _

_ Lucas: You’re all awful _

_ Lucas: And we didn’t move in together. It’s just temporary _

_ Lucas: Act at least vaguely civilised tonight or I’m taking all of Manon’s muffins _

_ Alexia: You’re no fun _

_ Emma: They’re my muffins though??? _

_ Lucas: Everyone here knows Manon is baking them for you _

_ Emma: 🖕🖕🖕 _

_ Alexia: Everyone meet at my place at 21, we can keep bullying them then _

“Done,” he announces. “We’re meeting them at 21. Prepare to be astonished.” He smiles, deliberately smug, but it fades gradually at Eliott’s expression. Happy, and pleased, and gentle, and all directed at Lucas, the feelings magnified by how intense Eliott’s eyes are, how mesmerising their blue is, how well Lucas can interpret them now. 

“I always am,” Eliott says, and it feels like some final few words are being left unsaid. Lucas tries really hard not to think too deeply about what those words might be, or if they even exist, if this is just his projection or not. 

He doesn’t think about it, but he doesn't break their eye contact either, tries to return it as best he can, and nudges their ankles together gently. 

* * *

The place is moderately busy when they torrent through the door, the bartenders occupied and chatting with customers as drinks are poured and shaken and decorated with citrus peels and salt, over half the tables buzzing with people, and two girls on the stage singing about falling in love and falling apart while one of the tables uses their phone screens as imitation lighters. 

They do a round of shots, except for Imane, Manon, and Emma, who is trying to cut down on her drinking, the vodka sharp and familiar on his tongue. Second round is an array of vivid cocktails for the girls, a beer for Lucas, and soda for Eliott. The table is sticky, and the lighting poor, but Alexia talks excitedly about the work she’s doing with her dance company, and Manon and Eliott are waxing poetic about a documentary about water they’ve both seen, and a brave soul with long red hair in a plait and a band shirt with terrifying art is belting out Queen, reminding the audience that, indeed, another one bites the dust. 

The balance decidedly tends towards the positive. The feeling steeps into his skin, muscles relaxed and laughter coming easy. 

It doesn’t take long for Alexia to take the stage, confident and shining, her voice strong and melodious and attracting the attention and affection of a large chunk of the room. She begins the domino effect of the rest of their group taking turns. Daphné is the only one of them who can also sing, her voice surprisingly enchanting when she goes up solo to perform an old love song, but more often than not the songs devolve giggling and leaning on one another for balance as the night grows long. 

Lucas hasn’t forgotten his promise and neither has Eliott, cutting him probing, curious looks every so often. But Lucas knows what he’s doing, is just biding time until he can get in the proper zone. Half way through a rambling conversation about his exact plan to survive a zombie apocalypse, he realises that yes, the time has come. He announces it grandly, mostly for Eliott’s sake, and is debating what song he should go with when Alexia gives a suggestion. An amazing suggestion that makes Eliott groan and Emma cackle. Emma is right.

“_Y__es.” _

Eliott turns to Lucas disbelieving. “What?! No. Have some _ taste_.” 

“No, fuck you. I’ll sing whatever I want.”

“No way you can pull it off.”

“Your lack of faith only makes me more powerful,” he says, then downs the rest of Alexia’s drink, light and spicy, and walks away before Eliott can delay him further. 

Lucas doesn't have a fuckton of skills, but he has strategic shamelessness and an affinity for music and, combined, he thinks they amalgamate into something greater than their individual parts. Or at least something more entertaining. It isn’t until he’s standing on the stage, Imane and Alexia cheering for him, that Lucas realises he may have made a mistake with this song. Because it takes nothing for his eyeline to move from those cheers to Eliott sitting next to them. Eliott, who looks like he’s repressing laughter and only kind of succeeding. Eliott with the challenging eyes. Eliott who is staring at him while Lucas _ belts out a love song. _

His pulse speeds up and it has nothing to do with singing in front of strangers, but it’s not like he’s going to _ stop _, so he runs a hand through his hair, grins what he hopes is winningly but what may have slide into smugness or perhaps apprehension, and sings. 

Lucas is easy to underestimate. He knows it, and relishes it, because it makes it so much more fun when proving people wrong. 

The girls start cheering after the first verse, and Lucas does his best to look at Eliott as little as possible, but he gets one glance of his face, surprised and, perhaps, a little impressed, and satisfaction grows pleasantly along his ribs. That’s what Eliott gets for thinking Lucas couldn’t sing a Zayn song and get away with it. Lucas: 1; Expectations: 0.

_ But you'll never be alone_  
_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn_  
_I'll be with you from dusk till dawn  
__Baby, I'm right here_

He hears Emma join in for the chorus, merry and off pitch and coaxing them all into singing as well. Under it all Lucas can hear Eliott's voice distinctly, low but there. He grins at it, at Eliott, at this entire night. Predictably, while he divides his attention between all his friends and some strangers in the crowd he chooses arbitrarily, it always returns to one person again and again, magnetic and indicative. He ups his showmanship, like he truly is a world famous ex boy band member, partially because that's what you do with karaoke but mostly because it kindles laughter from the person he wants them from the most. Or, that’s the plan, until he climbs further into the lyrics and forgets to unlatch himself from those intense eyes and ounces of showmanship dissolve, uncovering faucets of honesty, of seriousness, of thin gossamer strings of longing.

_ Light it up, on the run_  
_Let's make love tonight  
__Make it up, fall in love, try_

He holds his gaze for another second before he gathers the power to look away towards Imane instead. Hints about the path the rest of his night will take won’t be found in her face, only kindness and teasing and the dark purple lipstick she’s been favouring lately. It’s the face he needs to finish out the song. When it’s over he has half a mind to avoid Eliott for as long as possible, but that initial instinct to flee passes on the walk back to their table. Or rather, he squashes it down through sheer will and the knowledge that Eliott will act however he acts, which may not even be how Lucas imagines, and there’s nothing Lucas can do to stop or alter it. 

As with all of them he gets a round of applause, quiet so as to not totally interrupt the next performer, when he slides back into his seat. Eliott hasn't moved, hasn't switched his seat with anyone, which is a good sign in that it's mostly neutral. What isn't neutral is the way Eliott shuffles a little bit closer under the guise of snatching some fries. 

“You can sing," he murmurs, leaning close. Lucas swallows roughly, wills his heart to calm down.

“I told you I could.”

Eliott's eyes go fond and affectionate in that way do on occasion. Lucas has noticed it more and more in the recent weeks. “You’re… you’re amazing. You’re so…” he trails off, shaking his head. 

"Talented, impeccable, unique among the world's gems -" 

" - surprising," Eliott cuts in. "You're surprising. I like it."

Another decidedly not neutral thing: Eliott looping his ankle around Lucas' as though they're holding feet. The deliberate nonchalant move has him feeling warm in a way that has nothing to do with the crowded environment or his clothes. 

_ I like it. _

His next exhale is shaky and he thinks Eliott notices because he leans back out of Lucas' space with his mouth quirked, not quite a smirk but also not _ not _one. Hope blooms tentative in his stomach, the vine crawling along his ribs, stretching to his heart. 

He sticks with non alcoholic drinks for the rest of the night. He hasn't had enough to be really tipsy, let alone drunk, but he doesn't want anything interfering with his perception or his memory. He tries to follow the rivers of conversation happening around him, tries to rate other performers with Alexia and use napkins as origami paper with Imane, but only half of his heart is in it, the other parts in the places where he and Eliott touch, in scoping his memory for other moments between them, other hints he may have missed. When the clocks start ticking towards 1 am Eliott snakes an arm around his shoulders, mouth close to Lucas’ ear, his breath making him shiver.

“Lucas,” Eliott murmurs.

“Eliott,” he returns, voice lower and breathier than he thought it’d be, his pulse racing, the scent of lavender sweet. 

"It's late. Let's go home."

Lucas nods simply and agrees. “Let’s go home.”

The bar isn’t that far away from their place, so they elect to walk home, the air a bit chilly but the moon luminous and solid, and he's sure the twinkling stars are reflected in his eyes. The air between them taunt and humming, Lucas’ thoughts scattering across potentialities. What was that word he’d thought earlier? Inevitable. That was it, that was how this entire night felt, maybe their entire acquaintanceship, every moment leading to them walking to their shared home, altered from unanticipated honesty. 

Once they get inside, however, some of Eliott's assuredness dissolves, shoulders hunched, and fingers restless, tapping along his bottom lip then vanishing in his jacket pockets. Lucas gets it. It's easy to be bold, be honest, in a crowded place with drinks and entertainment and no pressure to follow through, it's harder to believe things said there are real in silence and privacy, throwing the stakes into stark relief. Lucas walks over to the windows, peers out at the dark street, a group of people slowly dawdling along the road, the trees full of new leaves that are shadows now but glow spring green in the sun. He thinks Eliott stays near the door but can't be sure, keeps looking out in case he wants the privacy to, well. To sort through the thoughts that are hunching his shoulders. The air is delicate, but he can feel the beginnings of electricity, ready to spark or be snuffed out. 

Eliott clears his throat. Lucas turns. 

"Lucas… what - what was that? Were you…” The worst thing is that his voice is so careful Lucas can't tell which direction this is leading, which direction Eliott would want it to. Uncertain, Lucas messes with his hair and sifts through possible responses. It's not a real internal debate, though, because Eliott deserves his honesty. He clears his throat and hopes Eliott can't see his hands shaking. 

“I have a crush, okay? But don't worry, I'll get over it. Or, I'll leave and _ then _get over it and we'll be fine.” He nods, adamant, because he probably could get over him with time and distance and luck. Eliott, though, looks at him with wide eyes and rapidly shakes his head, walking a few steps closer. 

“Lucas. Don't -" he breaks off with a short laugh, "I don't want you to get over it.”

Hope clashes with pessimism clashes with the desperate need for clarification “What -”

This time Eliott is the one messing with his hair. “Fucking hell, I'm so into you. I like you so much so don't… don’t get over me. Get, uh…”

Now definitely isn't the time for teasing, but Lucas can't resist saying, “...Under you?”

Eliott, very reluctantly, smiles even as he rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just - listen. You have a crush on me? I have a huge embarrassing crush on you. I have for a while.”

_ I have for a while. _

Lucas heart trips, his breath coming in fast. Inanely he thinks of a line of poetry Manon read to him once: hope is the thing with feathers. “I...need to sit down.”

“What? Lucas -”

“Just,” he holds up a hand and folds himself down on the floor, sitting cross legged and looking up at Eliott. Okay. This was good. No probable head injuries in his future because his legs wouldn’t hold up. “Okay. Continue.”

“Are you serious?”

“Profoundly."

"You're ridiculous," Eliott says. 

"You _ like _me," he responds, a glorious string of words he didn't expect he'd ever get to say and believe. "And you're so far away. Come closer?" 

"On the floor?" 

"Do you have a sudden aversion to it?"

"Rocket will ambush us," he points out, but he's also already taking long steps towards Lucas. His shoulders aren't hunched anymore. Lucas can't believe this is his life. 

"That's okay. It's worth it."

Eliott settles down in front of him. Streetlights outside throw odd shadows on his face, the both of them a patchwork of light and dark. Lucas reaches out and trails a fingers across his hand, the lines on his knuckles and the soft skin where veins would be visible in better light. Eliott lets him touch but he uses his other hand to find and hold Lucas', fingers interlocking, dry and soft and a little cold. The simple sight makes his breath hitch. 

"I've liked you for a while too," he says. Eliott's smile is just as beautiful in this light. 

“You were right earlier." His voice is low and smooth like honey.

“I was?” They're a lot closer than they had been just a few seconds ago, both of them leaning towards the other like flowers reaching for the sun. 

“You said this night would go down in history. I think it has.”

“History, huh?" 

Eliott nods, and he might've added something else, something sweeping and romantic that would make Lucas lose his breath, but Lucas kisses him instead. He kisses him and it's not fireworks or earthquakes, it's the final piece of a puzzle settled into place, the overwhelming correctness of it sending bursts of warmth and colour throughout his body. He’s kissing Eliott Demaury, whose lips are soft and mind in kind and who wants to kiss him too. They're still holding hands, fingers curled tight and unwilling to part. Lucas is reminded when Eliott moves to lay down and uses them to coax Lucas into following him down. It's unbearably unexpectedly sweet and Lucas makes a small annoyed noise when Eliott untangles them to hold Lucas' jaw instead. 

This is a far better way to make him breathless.

They break apart, chests bumping into each other as their lungs work hard, Lucas’ leg between both of Eliott’s, and smiling. Lucas feels _ good, _so fucking good, lips tingling and bones loose and Eliott's gorgeous smile overpowering every negative thought he's ever had. Lucas can't resist ducking close to brush their lips together again, simple and wonderful.

“This is probably a bad idea, you know, us living together when we just started dating,” he says, trying to be reasonable, but can’t bring himself to put any space between them that doesn’t need to be there, his lips still close to Eliott’s, arm still secure around his waist.

Eliott slowly brushes his nose against Lucas’. He doesn’t look at all concerned about being reasonable or sensible or anything other than looking at and touching Lucas. His heart melts, settling into every atom of his body, something soft and gentle blooming in his chest. He basks in it, and almost misses Eliott’s next words. “Maybe, but I want you here.”

It's almost tragic how easily Lucas caves. “You spend half your free time at Idriss’ anyway.”

“Exactly." Eliott peppers a series of kisses along his jaw, his cheeks. "Hours wise we’re barely living together.”

“Can I move the rest of my plants in?”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Eliott mumbles and kisses him again and again and again, lips soft and body close and hands holding his face like he’s never going to let go again. Lucas hopes he never does.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm on tumblr [ here ](https://without-tenderness.tumblr.com)


End file.
